All Good Things
by Agent LastWish
Summary: Timothy McGee has been missing for three days. When Ziva finds him critically wounded and damaged both physically and emotionally, can she save him? Or will it all be too late? R&R, tell me if I should continue. Some McGiva
1. Chapter 1

I apologize for my long absence. But I'm back for a while!  
So, this is just something I thought up, I hope you enjoy it!  
Please tell me if you want me to continue it!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NCIS

* * *

Timothy McGee sat in the park, leaning against a tree. He hadn't been to work in three days. He hadn't been home in three days. He hadn't left the park in three days. He looked odd, laying out in a forest in his nice work cloths. But then again, no one would've noticed. He hadn't seen another person in days. He was starving and thirsty. All he'd had for nourishment in three days was a granola bar and a small water bottle. He desperately wanted to leave, but he couldn't. It was physically impossible; his jacket was draped over a broken leg and a broken hand. His whole body ached, and it felt like a thousand knifes were stabbing him every time he moved. It hurt even to breath. His chest felt tight and he hand to take in shallow ragged breaths to keep the pain at bay. He felt sick and wanted nothing more than to lay down, but two broken ribs plainly forbade that.

And yet, at that moment, McGee wasn't thinking about the physical pain. He was focused on the horrible, crushing emotional pain he felt. He could've sworn he was dying, and thought it odd that his whole life wasn't flashing before his eyes. No, only one name came up. Jasmine Murray.

The girl he'd been dating for a little over a year.

The girl who'd broken up with him three days earlier.

The scene replayed itself inside McGee's head over and over and was the primary cause of his distress. It was all he could think about. And thinking about it made him feel sick. Made him want to cry. It bothered him. It bothered him that he asked her to meet him in the park that day and found her making out with some other guy in the spot he asked her to meet him. It bothered him that when he confronted her about it, the man broke his hand. It bothered him that she broke up with him, saying that she'd been married to "Chad" for five years. It bothered him that when he asked why she deceived him, Chad kicked him down so hard it broke two ribs. It bothered him that before the two left, Chad stepped on his leg and snapped the bone. It bothered him when she helped Chad beat him, kick, punch, slam him into the ground over and over until his eyes swelled shut. It bothered him that she just left him there, to drag himself a half a mile before passing out from exhaustion.

But what bothered McGee most, was the ring box that he had in his pocket the whole time.

And how stupid he was as to let himself believe that there was actually someone out there who loved him.

McGee grit his teeth and cried out. The pain was unbearable. He opened and closed his mouth, gasping like a fish. Like a pathetic trout. A pathetic trout who almost proposed to a psycho, who was already married to another psycho. An icy wind blew that made him shiver. It was going to rain. The nearly black sky promise him his own personal, wet, Hell tonight.

McGee opened his mouth and let out a sob, accidentally spitting as he did so. A little bit of drool ran down his chin. He didn't even have the strength to lift his arm to wipe it away. The horrible feeling in his stomach returned and it wasn't long before he retched. He had no idea what he could possibly be throwing up, simply because he hadn't eaten a thing in days.

The worst part was, the retching wasn't like a flu. No, it was much, much worse. It was agony. Pure agony. McGee thought for sure that he was retching up his insides. With every heave, it felt as if white hot knifes were being drug up his throat. And that wasn't even the worst part. When finally he was able to catch a breath, the dry heaving started. Every lurching spasm jostled his esophagus until it tore open. Blood trickled into his stomach, upsetting it, and the retching began again. It agitated his windpipe, causing it to tear. Blood slipped into his lungs and panic set in, for fear he'd drown. He couldn't stop heaving long enough to cough up the blood. He grew hysterical. Finally, the heaving stopped and he coughed up the blood. And there he was left, sobbing and quaking.

And this happened to McGee almost every other hour throughout the course of his stay in the woods.

McGee was covered in blood and vomit. He was quaking violently and emotionally compromised. He was sure it was the end of him. He was ready to let himself fall asleep, knowing he'd never wake up again, when he heard the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in all of his life:

"McGee? McGee! Tim, where are you?"

The frantic, worried voice of Ziva David, to him was a chorus of angles. Like a symphony of the most angelic of music, it almost made Tim weep when he heard it.

"Z-Ziva… I'm-m… here…" He managed to croak.

Suddenly silence.

"N-no…! C-come… back…" He moaned.

Then the frantic footsteps. Joyous tears streaked Tim's face when he heard the crunching of leaves as Ziva ran through the forest.

Then, her face came into view. When she saw him, she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide in disbelief. Her eyes were read and puffy: Tim could've sworn she'd been crying.

McGee grinned weakly at her. Ziva's mouth opened a little and she ran madly towards him, dropping to her knees beside him. "McGee! T-Tim…!" He'd never heard her voice crack before.

Ziva wrapped her arms around him, hugging him, not even noticing the mess. She cupped his face in her hands, caressed it, even kissed it. Never, in all his life, had McGee EVER seen Ziva act like this. He was terrified he must be dead because never in a million years would she ever act like that.

Suddenly, she released her grip on him and glared daggers at him, looking as if she wished to slap him. "Timothy McGee, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" she practically screamed. "We have been worried sick about you. We have all thought that you were dead! Gibbs has been pissed off with worry, Tony won't speak anymore, and Abby is absolutely hysterical!" She yelled. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Tim was too weak to flinch. "H-here…" He rasped.

"And why did you not call?" She snapped.

"Phone… died…"

She looked him up and down. Her gaze softened, becoming almost sorrowful. She gently moved the jacket off him. Upon seeing the broken bones, her facial expression did not change, but there was a clear pained expression in her eyes. "What happened, McGee?" She asked calmly.

"Girlfriend… psycho… married… Husband… attacked… me" Was all he could manage to explain.

Ziva could clearly see the bulge of the ring box in his pocket and felt bad for him. She hugged him. "I am very sorry McGee…" She couldn't seem to find the right words.

"It's… okay…" He whimpered, feeling the humiliating tears burning the back of his throat.

Ziva didn't release the hg for a few moments, and Tim was grateful for that. He buried his dirty, bruised face in her shoulder. She watched his slumped shoulders heave as he tried to stop his tears. She felt a pang in her heart for him: He was very clearly in love with the girl. She knew he'd been planning to propose for about a month and was never able to find the right time to pop the question. It was a source of much entertainment for Tony, who made fun of "McProcratination" much for it.

McGee moaned softly, his whole body shook with exhaustion. It was at that point that Ziva released the hug. "McGee, what is wrong?" She asked softly.

"My chest…" He gasped. "It… feels… tight…"

She put a gentle hand on his forehead and found a worrying fever. "You should lay down, Tim. I think that you are showing signs of pneumonia," She commented. "You really should lay down,"

Tim smiled sadly. "Wish… I could… ribs… broken…"

"Here, I'll help you," She gingerly wrapped one arm around his chest, the other placed firmly on his back. She slowly eased him down on his side, letting him rest his head on her lap.

Tim didn't complain. In fact he was asleep almost the second Ziva laid him down. And the moment he was asleep, she whipped out her cell phone and made the joyous call to the Navy Yard that McGee had been found. Over the phone, Ziva could hear the relieved sighs of her coworkers, even the joyous sobbing of Abby. However, the mood became serious when she told them of McGee's condition. All they could do was call an ambulance and hope that McGee could hold on for a little longer.

Ziva hung up the phone and turned her attention back to Tim. A bitter wind blew. And while Ziva remained unfazed, Tim on the other hand, shivered and whimpered from the cold. Ziva took off her jacket and gently draped it over him. She felt his forehead again and willed the ambulance to hurry.

Even with the jacket, Tim still shivered. Ziva felt a pang of guilt and worry wash over her. When she first arrived to the Navy Yard, he was the only one who would talk to her. He was one of her best friends, part of her family, and she WOULD NOT LOOSE HIM.

Perhaps it was motherly instinct that over took her. She ran her fingered through his hair, and tenderly brushed the sweat drenched strands of brown hair from his face. She gently rubbed small circles on his back, getting a very sick feeling when she looked at his battered, pain twisted face, the short ragged breaths he could barely take in, his blue lips and pale complexion, the tremors that so cruelly shook his body, the soft, pain filled moans that escaped his lips, and his skyrocketing fever.

How could she have let this happen? How could she let Jasmine fool them all?

The more she thought about it, the more Ziva became convinced that there was something psychiatrically wrong with that woman. To beat and abuse a young man so sweet as McGee?

Another tremor racked the young man's body. His back arched in pain and he cried out a pitiful moan. Ziva's desire to comfort him suddenly became even more fierce.

"Hold on, McGee. Help will be here soon," she promised.

But surely not soon enough. Much to Ziva's horror, McGee began to seize. There was nothing she could do but hold down his limbs as best she could until the seizure was over.

Finally, the battered agent's body began to still. She pressed his weak, vulnerable form against herself protectively, as she prayed silently in Hebrew that the ambulance would hurry.


	2. Chapter 2

Twice.

McGee had seized twice more. That makes three seizures in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Each time, his breathing grew shallower and shallower, and his trembling increased. Throughout the whole time, although internally she was sick with worry, Ziva remained her composure, and kept her face blank. Although, her eyes betrayed her and clearly expressed her true worry. She greatly feared that McGee would not make it.

Another pathetic whimper issued forth and she tenderly brushed back the sweat drenched strands of golden blond hair. His body tensing, McGee's facial expression became pained. His mouth gaped and sharp, quiet cries of pain raked his body. Every muscle tensed, he gripped his side so hard he drew a little bit of blood. Ziva took his hand so he wouldn't accidentally hurt himself more, and gave it a gentle squeeze. His grip tightened firmly, and a real, agonizing cry of pain filled the air. Then, he began to gasp and tremble, clearly unable to get air. Still gripping his hand firmly, Ziva began rubbing circles on his back again, trying to ease the air into his lungs.

Just as McGee had earlier predicted, the rain began to fall, much to Ziva's dismay. The bitter water hitting the young agent's already hypothermic body as the night air quickly cooled, made him shiver so hard that Ziva pinned down his limbs again, thinking he was having another seizure. But as the chattering of his teeth, and the quiet whimpers of pain and cold that escaped his lips, proved her wrong.

She gripped his hand again and rubbed his shoulder withe her free hand, trying to warm him. When his breathing soon became pained again, she rubbed circles on his chest.

Suddenly, McGee's eyes shot wide open and he cried out again. Gritting his teeth, tears cut little streams in the dirt on his face.

Ziva's eyes flashed. "McGee?" she cried, beginning to panic a little. "McGee, what is wrong?" she asked frantically, gently touching his face as his eyes squeezed shut again.

McGee opened his mouth to speak, but the pain cut him off. Where Ziva expected words, came a painful scream.

She put a hand behind on the back if his head and brought it close to her. "Where does it hurt, McGee? Where does it hurt?" she asked.

But McGee couldn't answer. The pain was too great. He couldn't pinpoint a single location where it hurt, as his whole body was in agony. It messed with his brain. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. He cried out again, his body began to shake. He tried to shift his position but he was too malnourished, too weak.

Ziva could see his efforts and lifted him off his back. She pressed him against her, wrapping her arms around his broken body. She pressed his face against her shoulder. He cried out again, his pain muffled by her shoulder.

Once more, McGee cried out, although it was quieter. His pain was eazed a little by his change of position. He chest heaved and his eyes squeezed shut. He wrapped his arms around Ziva as best he could and gripped her shirt. He buried her face in her shoulder and cried, his whole body shivering.

"Sh... It is okay, McGee. It is okay. Just hold on. The ambulance will be here soon. Sh, sh, shhh, it is okay. You will be be okay McGee," she soothed him, very gently rubbing his back.

Ziva had thought the worst of the pain had passed because McGee, poor thing, had quieted. Then, suddenly, he went limp and Ziva realized there was something terribly, terribly wrong.

"McGee? McGee!" she cried, shaking him. She lowered him down to the ground and realized with horror that the steady rise and fall of his chest had stilled.

He wasn't breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

Pressure. That's all he felt. Pressure in his chest. It was as if he were trapped under a car. And the pain was unbearable. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breath! At first, he couldn't move. Then, he couldn't stop moving. His whole body shook violently, and it wouldn't stop. It caused him agony. He heard a loud noise in the background. It was dull and hazy but it felt loud. He felt someone pressing on his limbs. It scared him. He opened his mouth and tried to scream but no sound came out. His throat was closed off. He wanted to fight back but his body was jerking everywhere. They moved him and strapped him to something so he couldn't move. He was terrified. Finally the seizing stopped Someone forced something over his face. That was when the real fear set in. Finally, air flooded into his lungs, and he screamed in terror.

"McGee? Tim!" he heard a female voice with a strange accent.

He opened his eyes but wasn't able to see anything. Was he blind? He began to hyperventilate. He felt a hand on his chest and heard that voice again.

"Tim, calm down! You are safe! The paramedics are helping you!" she cried.

He was still panicking, his head flipping back and forth. He was still hyperventilating and finally, he blacked out.

AGENT LASTWISH: ALL GOOD THINGS

"He will be alright, yes?" Ziva asked, fighting to keep her voice calm in the back of the ambulance.

"Tough to say for now," came the grunt of one of the paramedics. "He's got several broken ribs, a broken hand and a broken leg. He's got some internal bleeding and a sever concussion. He's also got a bad bout of pneumonia. And that's just what we can tell from the surface. We won't know more until we get his shirt off," she said.

Ziva simply nodded, staring at Tim's broken body. Poor McGee... Laying there so helpless ad vulnerable... He looked more like an abused little boy than a federal agent.

Now that the paramedics had him stabilized, they worked to get his shirt off, so they could see the damage underneath.

And nothing they'd seen so far, could prepare them for this.

Ziva shut her eyes, and force the tears away.

McGee wasn't just beaten.

He was tortured.

That's why he'd been screaming earlier. It looked as it someone had taken a pocket knife and sliced open his stomach. She wondered why there was no blood, but upon closer inspection...

Ziva had to snap her head away to keep from throwing up. It looked as if someone had taken a lighted and burned the wound closed.

And his back...

It was...

Horrible...

It was infected and opened up... It was just a raw slab of meat. It was like someone had taken a flexible stick and whipped him over and over and over and over...

"Oh McGee... Oh Tim... What did they do to you," Ziva asked softly to no one in particular.

She shut her eyes and just listened as they wrapped bandages around his torso. When it was all over, she walked over and sat next to him. She held his had ever so gently in her own. She brushed the hair from his face and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"How could they do this to you? How could they do this? You are so young and innocent... So sweet and kind... Oh... How could they do this to you?" Ziva asked over and over again. She could not comprehend the damage done to the young man's body. It was... It was unimaginable. What had he done to deserve this?

"Oh Tim... Oh Tim..."


	4. Chapter 4

_Ding!_

The sound of the elevator ding raises everyone's gaze. And the look on Ziva's face made their heart's skip a beat.

Abby and DiNozzo were the only ones in the bullpen when Ziva arrived. Abby was hysterical. Worried about Timmy, who (from Ziva's report) was in critical condition, and worried about Ziva who hadn't called in hours. She was stalking Tony everywhere when, asking every few seconds or so, if Ziva had called him. And when she walked in, Abby was torn between relief and frantic worry.

Ziva's face was a mask of calmness that, even still, displayed the horror of the scene that had taken place before her only hours ago. She was covered in blood, drenched in the stuff. And the fact that none of it was her own, is what had Abby in a frantic mess. But what worried her the most was the jacket in Ziva's hand.

Torn up, ripped, and stained in massive amounts of blood, the jacket was far too big to fit Ziva and therefore meant one thing: McGee.

Abby stood up and hugged Ziva.

The silence was overwhelming.

And finally, it was Abby who broke it:

"T-Timmy… Is he… is he… still…"

"Alive?" Ziva finished. "Yes," She said with a sigh. "But he is in critical condition. It is doubted that he will…" She stopped. She couldn't seem to find the right way to put this last bit of information. But it was information they needed, and it was her job to spill. "…Survive surgery,"

Tony grit his teeth and stared off into the distance. There was no way he could digest that information. Not yet. He refused to believe that McGee, _his probie, _wouldn't make it through the night. He had to. He _had _to. And he was going to find out who did this to his probie. No one messed with McGee, except him and… maybe Gibbs. And that was that.

"Wh-wh-what did she DO TO HIM?" Abby's sob broke Tony's train of thought.

"What happened, Ziver?" Gibbs asked as he walked in, surprisingly carrying no coffee. This was not a time for coffee.

Ziva looked at the floor, not meeting their eyes. "I got there just in time, it seem. He was laying on his side," She said, words tumbling out. "He was whipped with a flexible stick, his back was just a… slab of meat." She shook her head. "I think it was his girlfriend,"

"What makes you think that?" Gibbs asked.

"In his pocket there was a… Ring-cube, yes?" Ziva said.

"Ring-cube? I think you mean ring_ box_. He must have finally been proposing," Tony said, shaking his head.

"Yes. Before he passed out, he said his girlfriend was married. She and her husband must have been the ones who beat him,"

Gibbs rose to his feet. "Alright that's it. Find out who she really is and find her and her husbands and bring them down,"


	5. Chapter 5

"Rrng!" McGee's pained grunt came when the nurse helped him sit up so he could retch in the small bucket she'd held out for him.

McGee had been in surgery for hours. Six to be exact. The internal injures were a fairly easy hurtle for the surgeons to tackle. His torn up back... Took a good portion of time to fix. But it was Tim's broken bones that soon proved to be the biggest problem. The break in his leg required several pins to hold in place. And as for his hand... Broken was an understatement. Try completely splinterized. A good portion of time spent in surgery was spent trying to repair the damage done to the tiny little nerves in his hand. Even after so much time had been spent, McGee would still need at least two more surgeries -when his condition was more stable- to repair his hand, and some of the other more problematic places, and work on the more fine details. Although it was a subject of much concern- even after three surgeries, the like hood that he would never use the hand again, was concerningly high.

Three days after his first surgery, though, McGee was awake and sort of miserable. The pain medication in his drip was making his stomach quesy and sensitive and basically everything that went down just came back up a little while later. It was awful; he could barely sit up, so the nice nurse (who he couldn't help but think looked an awful lot like Kate) had to help him up so he wouldn't spew all over himself and choke.

It was really humiliating- and McGee felt the shame burning into his cheeks when the young woman had to wipe his chin.

The young woman gave him a warm smile and told him not to worry about it- he was sick, he couldn't help it. And after all, it was her _job_ to help him.

She left again -to go fetch something perhaps- and to be honest, he was sort of glad she was gone. It wasn't that he didn't _like_ the nurse... She was pretty, and really nice to him... he just didn't like her having to help him with everything. It just felt so _pathetic. _He was a federal agent for crying out loud! He shouldn't need anyone to help him wipe his chin after he was sick, help him sit up to take his pills, help him eat... He wasn't five and she wasn't his mother!

McGee sighed settled back into the hospital bed, letting his eyes slide shut. There was part of him that was sort of afraid of that sweet young nurse... It was stupid. She was so nice to him, why should he be afraid? Why? Because she was nice, that's why. McGee was afraid that she was pretending... that she was going to turn on him and beat him and-

_Fchhht kchn-_

McGee's closed eyes tightened a little when he heard the door open and close. _She's back already?_ He thought with a groan. He rolled his head around a little, and decided just to keep his eyes closed. _Maybe if she thinks I'm sleeping she'll go away..._

His made his breath deep and uneven to mimic sleep, telling his tensed up muscles to relax. After a couple of minutes (it felt more like hours to him), and he didn't hear the door open and close again so she must've still been here. Curses- he was starting to feel restless.

McGee willed himself to feign sleep for a couple of moments more. But then he heard breathing in the chair next to him and realized something was up- this wasn't right.

Carefully, he let his eyes slide open and focus on the figure beside him.

"I knew you were faking, Timmy," Abby said with a tiny smile.

McGee couldn't help but chuckle. "How'd ya know?" He asked, his voice sounding sort of croaky. He shifted his arm in the sling, wondering in the back of his mind if he'd ever use it again.

Abby beamed. "I'm the best sleep-faker in the world! It's all in the breathing. You're breathing way too heavy,"

McGee smiled. "I can't help it, my chest hurts!" He complained.

Abby shook her head. "Besides you twitch too much,"

McGee rolled his eyes and snorted. Then, changing the subject, he looked up and asked, "So, where have you guys been? I haven't seen any of you since yesterday,"

In truth, the simple sentence made Abby feel awfully guilty; she wished she could've been with him more, especially know when he really needed her! "Everybody's been busy hunting do the sick, twisted people who did this to you," She said, a malevolent edge to her voice.

McGee didn't really give any sort of reaction.

"Timmy... are you okay?" She asked quietly.

McGee just smiled and gave a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," He said, shifting his arm a little bit.

But he wasn't fine. And Abby could tell.

He might act like he was fine, he would smile and nod and say joke around, and it was all a very convincing act, but he wasn't fine. There were signs all over the place; little cracks in his dam from the strain and pressure. The way he trembled when people got to close, or when more than two or three people were in the room. The dark purple bags that were starting to show under his eyes from the first of many sleepless nights due to nightmares and such. The strained edges to his smile when he thought no one was looking. The way he flinched when people touched him, then tried to brush it off with more movement.

He might have acted so freaking _chipper _all the time, but he was definitely _not _fine.

And it was worrying them all out of their minds.


End file.
